


Stop and Think

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop and Think

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinceresapphire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinceresapphire/gifts).



> For a fic swap! The summary was my prompt! :)

It is times like these, when an assignment has gone wrong that she starts to think about all the plans she had for her life and how SHIELD went and mucked them up. Sure, her plans may have been _uncover government conspiracies_ or _change the oil in the van_ , but they were good plans, solid plans.

She had different plans now, the ones that said _destroy all remaining branches of Hydra_ , _punch Grant Ward in the face_ , or _try not to die_.

Skye supposed they were good plans too, even if that last one was becoming the most difficult of the lot.

She’s bleeding, a lot, not an amount where she was worried about dying, but enough that she felt light headed and weirdly insightful.

Which was probably why, in the middle of watching Lance try to fix up her wounds from their nearly lost fire fight, she ends up blurting out. “Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?”

That or it might have been the two shots of Tequila that she did in ‘prep for the pain’ (Lance’s words not hers).

“Fixing you up? I mean, sure I could let you bleed all over the place, but if I ruin another safe house Coulson threatened to put me on inventory for the next year-“

“That’s not what I meant.”

“So, what like retire,” Lance replies. Pausing as if considering it, he shrugs his shoulders. “In about ten years, and four months, and thirteen days,” he pauses once more scrunching up his face in mock concentration before correcting, “give or take on the days.”

“Okay, so that’s weirdly specific.”

He shrugs again, “I have a retirement fund.”

“You have a _what_?”

“Retirement- Oh shut up” he starts, but stops as he sees the smirk on her lips. Really though it’s not like Skye could help it, in the world they lived in it just didn’t seem reasonable. As far as she was concerned any mission could be their last, this one nearly was.

At least, for her.

“Do you have life insurance too?”

“If I were you I would be a lot nicer to the person putting you back together.”

She ignores his advice.

“Wow, I knew you were old but- Fuck.” Skye hisses, the sharp pain as Lance pours the peroxide over the bullet wound, causing her to forget what she had been saying. She pointedly glares in his direction, not put off in the slightest by the smirk he levels her in retire.

“Sorry, love, that might sting a bit.”

“No really, I had no idea,” she sarcastically quips back.

Her hands instinctively rise to press against where the bullet had grazed her ribs, but before she can do so there’s fingers in between hers pulling her back. “You’ll make it worse.”

“Well, it fucking hurts.” She grits out, but she doesn’t move to touch her side anymore. Instead she lets her hands rest inside his for a moment.

“Sometimes things have to hurt before they get better.”

Maybe she wasn’t the only one feeling weirdly insightful after blood loss.

She almost wants to get up and check him for some sort of head wound just in case, but there’s no need for he speaks up again a moment later, “Izzy used to say that when I got stabbed on the job, pretty sure it was just her excuse to be extra harsh stitching me back up.”

“Like you’re being to me?”

Lance’s grin is almost comical in reply, “Doesn’t it make you feel ten times better?”

“No.”

“Do you want more to drink?”

“Finally, you’re talking sense.” Skye smirks at him.

She thanks him graciously a second later as the bottle of tequila is pushed into her hands once more. Skye takes a long swig from the bottle, before keeping it in her hand protectively. That gets her an eye roll in reply, but he doesn’t try to take it away and instead turns back to bandaging her up with a sort of precision that makes her realized this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

She wonders where he learned to keep his hands that steady. Back during his time in the milirary or when he was doing mercenary work with Hartley? For some reason Skye can’t help but imagine a different answer – a young Lance Hunter, no _Doctor_ Lance Hunter, whose portions each of his paychecks off into retirement funds and a plethora of savings accounts just in case of rainy days.

It’s a silly image, one she can’t help but laugh at, even though all it gets her in return is a pain in her ribs and a confused look from Lance.

“Ticklish?”

“No, not that,” Skye shakes her head, “I just keep thinking about your _retirement fund_ and-“

He snorts, “You’re just jealous that in ten years, four months, and thirteen days, I’m going to be living the good life out in the Bahamas while you’re shooting at whatever enemy SHIELD has this week.”

“You know, if you ever need some company in ten years or whatever,” Skye suggests, wiggling her eyebrows with every implication she can muster.

“I could consider that,” Lance grins, “But I might remember you making fun of me and-“

Skye groans. “Thanks for nothing.”

“Actually, what you should be saying, is _thanks for saving my life with your incredible bandage skills_.”

She doesn’t say that much, but instead replies, “You finished?”

“It’s good enough till we get back to home base.”

That’s what Skye had been waiting to hear. She hops off of the counter she had been sitting on, with a lack of her usual grace.

“You know, Hunter,” Skye says, once she’s bandaged up, and has maneuvered her shirt back on to the proper position with minimal pain, “You can be surprisingly grown up when you want to be.”

He grimaces, though whether that’s from her words or the blood he’s stubbornly trying to wash off of his hands is unclear, “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to lose my air of _sometimes useful slacker,_ people might expect me to do my job.”

“And that would be truly tragic,” she rolls her eyes. “But I am serious.”

“Yeah, well,” he replies, eyes sweeping over her, “I had no choice, it was that or comment on how nice your breasts looked in that sports bra and-“

“And now the illusion of you as a successful adult is shattered.”

 


End file.
